


As It Was

by Johaerys



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ancient Elves (Dragon Age), Angst, F/M, Pining, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Shapeshifting, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 17:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johaerys/pseuds/Johaerys
Summary: Solas is the bearer of a terrible curse.He watches as the world crumbles and changes around him, while he remains the same. The same, but different. The Fade is the only place where he can find solace, where he can recount everything that has been lost.In the depths of his loneliness, in the midst of the vast, cold emptiness around him, he remembers her.And everything is as it was. If only for a moment.





	As It Was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HumblePeasant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumblePeasant/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Guardian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391306) by [HumblePeasant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumblePeasant/pseuds/HumblePeasant). 

> This little one shot features Solas and [HumblePeasant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumblePeasant/pseuds/HumblePeasant) 's OC, Maordrid. Because I think that by now it's no secret to anyone that knows me that I love them both to bits.
> 
> Inspired by Hozier's [As It Was](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7q-4mfl_s4).

Solas is the bearer of a terrible curse.

He watches, silently, unmoving, as the aeons flow in a never-ending stream. Even as he stands, time, hateful, runs a thousand miles, the seasons pass, the leaves on twisting branches turn from green to gold to brown, empires rise and crumble in his wake, while he stays the same. The same, but different.

He has lived to see his name changed to a title, the title to a curse. It tears at him, tugs at the frayed edges of his consciousness, but deep down he knows. Such is the way of the world. A righteous sword cuts readily through a rigid, lifeless title. Less so at the man breathing underneath it.

There was one who saw past that.

The thought should have been a comfort, but the weight of it has made him weary. It’s in the stagger in his step, in the edge in his voice, in the circles under his eyes, in his heart of hearts that has become a dark, bottomless well.

The world is dying, and he is wasting away with it. Still, he carries on.

His dreams are his only solace, his refuge from a world that hates him. At nights, he sheds his broken, tattered skin, carries his soul in the shape of a wolf. Eyes red and burning, paws pounding on the soft earth, fur bristling, tongue lolling, teeth gleaming, stark and unforgiving.

He treads down familiar paths, worn smooth by the passing of countless years. He runs over mountains, streams, snowy peaks and scorching deserts.

The world as he knew it is gone. It might as well have never been, it might as well never again be, consumed by the shadow of his presence. But when he walks those old paths in the Fade, unchanged, even now, he himself might never have existed.

A poor consolation. It is not easy, being among the few remaining to remember the old dreams. It will never get easier, carrying on through the centuries alone. In the emptiness that surrounds him, he remembers everything that’s been lost.

In that vast, cold emptiness that surrounds him, he remembers her.

Her feral grey stare. Her dark hair. Her lips of winter, her heart of fire. Her smile, that screams of murder. Her tongue, sharper than the sharpest blades hanging by her belt, softer than a cloud drifting along an untroubled sky. Sweeter than honey.

Her long fingers running over the staff he helped her make. Plucking the strings of a lute that’s out of tune, caressing the murals he painted. The brisk wave of her hand as she summons a spell to warm them on a cold winter night. Brushing his lips over every inch of her slender arm as she recounts an old story, long forgotten by everyone but them.

Her feet, soundless against the cold stone floor of the rotunda. The smell of paint on his clothes, the feel of plaster on his palms. A brush of stray magic that gets tangled in his fingers, her clever laugh ringing softly in his ears. He turns around to see her perched on his desk, watching him work.

The smile that comes unbidden, the flutter in his heart that he knew he should suppress. He goes to her regardless, drawn to her as if by instinct. A smudge of paint on his cheek. She reaches out to brush it away. She smiles, her mischievous smile that’s warmer than the sun on a summer day, brighter than rays of light rippling through stained glass.

She is a mystery to him. There’s a million questions he could ask her. About her life, her dreams, her most well-kept secrets. He could wring her out, squeeze her dry, search for every crack on her smooth surface.

The questions, one by one, die on his lips.

“Tell me about your day.”

The spark in her eyes, his soul the tinder that could set the world aflame.

Moments that he shared with her, moments he remembers clearly. Hollow echoes of a time that almost felt like home. Almost. He lives through them, again and again, there, in the serenity of the Fade. Threadbare dreams. Broken promises. The pain he has caused her, his only legacy. It follows him like a mangy dog, stubborn and merciless.

She calls for him, even now. Even after everything, she still calls out his name. In her pain, in her fury, in her joy, and in her calmness, too. She cries it out like a curse, like an arrow worked to a razor-sharp edge. Like a plea. A benediction. It crashes against his heart, his soul, soft whispers running over his skin, like they did so long ago.

His name, always on her lips. Always.

He turns into a wolf, runs free in the world of dreams. He runs, even when there’s nowhere left to run to. He runs and runs, until his lungs ache, until his bones grate. But there’s no running away. He becomes the wind, the rain, the snow, the storm, the lightning, but there’s no breaking from these constraints. He climbs the highest of mountain peaks. Hides in the darkest of corners. But still, her voice finds him.

She calls to him.

No matter how far he runs, he can never outrun her. “You can’t run from what lies within your heart,” someone told him once. A long time ago.

Days pass, months roll by, turn into years. Still, she calls. Her voice, tearing at him, eroding his resolve, eating away at steel and stone. It pierces his soul, cuts through blood, through skin and bone.

He is bound to her. Just as she is bound to him.

He finds her sitting under the ancient trees of Arlathan, the memories of them holding strong against the shifting currents of the Fade.

She has changed. He has changed her, just as he has changed everything. But there are some things that never change.

In her dreams, her long hair falls freely down her back, flows languidly in that other-worldly wind. In his dreams, he stands tall. He doesn’t carry the weight of a thousand battles, the pain of millions, the anger of a universe in chaos on his shoulders. In his dreams, he’s the man she met all this time ago.

“Solas.”

The Fade shifts and warps around her. Her mere presence pulls at its edges. She is there, always there, immovable. Never takes her eyes off him.

He has taken everything from her. She refuses to take even that.

They gaze long at each other. The hawk and the wolf. The guardian and the eater of worlds.

She goes by many names, but in his heart of hearts she has only one.

“Maori.”

He breathes it, so softly that it could be the night air stirring in the trees above them. In his ears, it’s a deafening roar.

She comes closer, extends her hand to him. Touches his cheek, as if to brush a spot of paint away. He leans into her touch. He could never do otherwise. His soul reaches out to her, fits seamlessly with hers. All the pieces that were missing, falling into place.

The world is crumbling - _he_ is crumbling-, and she is tearing at the seams, but still, their memories refuse to die away. Memories of all the moments that have been lost, moments inescapably tangled in the passing of a merciless time that obliterates all. He grabs at them, clutches them close to his heart, even as he tries to shut them out.

The moments of calm in the midst of a shattering storm. Countless nights they spent together, wide awake until the grey light of morning found them, the echoes of them still quivering through the Fade. His lips pressed against her forehead. Her hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. The love they shared.

_Tell me if any of it remains._

The words rush through him, come to him like waves, only to crash against his teeth.

_Tell me if you wait for me still._

He shivers in her arms, but she holds him fast, even as he withers away.

_Tell me…_

“Tell me about your day,” he whispers.

And everything is as it was. Everything he is, everything that’s left of him, is hers, just as it was. If only for a moment. If only in their dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Ohhh, I sure hope you liked it :3
> 
> Here you can find my beloved Keeper of Chronicles, writer, artist and best friendo [HumblePeasant, aka thesaltyhealer](https://thesaltyhealer.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> I'm [JohaerysLavellan on Tumblr](https://johaeryslavellan.tumblr.com/). Come say hi if you fancy!


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